


Introspective

by meragu



Series: gifts [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Musing, Post canon, alityuu but only mentioned in passing, ask me about my 'durbe is from the netherlands' h/c, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 10:59:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meragu/pseuds/meragu
Summary: Home is where the heart is. birthday fic for Jace!





	Introspective

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Jace!!!! sorry this is like, not very birthday themed I went on about seven tangents to get here. 
> 
> Enjoy ~

Summer was his favourite time of the year.  
  
July especially; nothing had screamed pure content quite like the bearing sun shining upon him, absorbing through him only to curl through his veins, setting alight at every part of him that feels dormant, hidden away with the busyness of the modern world around him. It was the closest he’d felt to flying, the warmth on a day to day that he missed so dearly ever since their powers had been revoked alongside their revival.  
  
Or at least it was, until Alit had given up, thoughts too full and heart too heavy to keep living the way he was; Heartland City was beautiful but it never was _home,_ , it was busy and full but never _free_ , the one thing he felt he really needed. So, with permission from a tense but understanding Nasch, he took off, bag slung over his back and tickets in his hands as he fought to face the only thing that had bothered him since his revival: the truth.  
  
It wasn’t as if he didn’t _know_ the truth – he’d seen it with his own eyes, had the words, the images burned into his brain for the rest of his life – but there was something more, something he had been missing in between it all. It burned at him when he least expected, curling and twisting at his throat at the worst times, clinging and grasping at him in the name of déjà vu. None of it makes sense within him; the truth sat with him, he was wrongfully convicted, it was manipulation outside of his control that he couldn’t have changed no matter how he tried, and yet it wasn’t enough – he had to find the answers.  
  
For if there was really nothing he could have done, there was a lesson to be learned, words spoken from broken lips into the darkened air as he sits alone in what little he could afford with the work he’d put in in the restaurant down below. He could have easily afforded more with the money he’d saved up, and lord knows that if he was to get into serious trouble Nasch and the others would not hesitate to help out, had offered many times – to Mizael’s scoff when Alit had suggested going rough to a gentle insistence in a goodbye hug from Merag that he look after himself and to keep in contact with them – but there was something about sleeping rough, to really walk and live the same way that he had before that maybe, it would all begin to make sense.  
  
And he had, as much as coordinating schedules with the seven had become near intolerable – time zones were near impossible to work around when most of the time he was awake they were asleep and between work, extracurriculars and university, group chats and meetings were slipping further and further out of the realm of possibilities – they had tried all the same, each taking a few hours out of their time to put aside for him. And though the technology wasn’t something that he’d intended to bring with him, having originally insisted on leaving both his duel gazer and d-pad at Heartland City, he had to cave when Nasch had insisted that he would not be allowed to leave without some form of contact.  
  
Fury had composed him at the time, for how can he remain as authentic when the trip can be disrupted so easily by technology, only to realise in the end that he wasn’t distracted at all by it, only enhanced. He’d managed to get by for a month on the outskirts of Amsterdam by winning local duel tournaments – it had led to tutoring, carrying him over until Durbe flew in in the middle of June – and while he so claims it’s never meant anything to him bar the calls and conversations with the other emperors, it’s a lie, it’s always been a lie and it’s only when the quiet but ever present _ding_ of his duel gazer fills the room that Alit finally brings emerald eyes from the skylight and back to the device charging beside him.  
  
Rolling to the side, he tears his eyes from the window to the world above him – the best part of renting out the worn out attic above the restaurant was not the run down batches of old, useless springs that was his excuse for a bed, but the wide, beautiful skylight that captured the mess of lights of the street above him, connecting his current world to the lights above, a world he still felt pangs of longing for long after it had been rewritten from existence for good – back to the device, the only things keeping him connected to the world having contact with him now.  
  
Pushing aside the ongoing conversation between the Emperor’s group chat that seemed to exclusively be revolving around why on earth Vector could simply decide to _casually_ mention that Merag’s ongoing missing comfort food was _conveniently_ in his hands right at this moment, he sweeps through his remaining messages. Now that he’d actually thought about it, he hadn’t checked the device for most of the day, choosing only to send a message to Nasch regarding his availabilities to call in the next week; and it showed, for the constant stream of messages that light up his device were only one of seven, and with the barians preoccupied, it was only his partner left to badger him.  
  
And badger him he did, ten unread messages ranging from a simple good morning that he had received at midday during work to a quick selfie in front of the retreating back of a defeated foe to a simple frown, a reminder that even if he was still trying to find himself, he still had obligations to take care of at home. Not that Yuma ever really was an _obligation_ , more a break from the reflection he’d forced himself under, a reminder of what it really felt like to be Alit the _person_ , not Alit the _barian_.  
  
Giving in, he responds to the message, the saddened emoji sent far too late in the evening for a responsible adult – something that Yuma so claimed to be now that he was eighteen, but Alit was not so sure – and though a part of him wants to wait until morning, a chastisation on the edge of his lips for staying up so late, he can’t really blame him, for it had really been far too long since he’d heard the sound of his partner’s voice.  
  
_Alit: sorry, today has been busy. Good to hear you’re binding your time, not doing your schoolwork, as usual. No work Friday your time – see if you can bug Nasch enough to get in on their group call. I’ll find a non-3am time to call you soon, promise. Go the hell to sleep._  
  
Dropping the device back to the bed, hardened green eyes stare back at the ceiling, off through into space as hands hook behind his head to prop himself better. It’s been two weeks since arriving in Spartan City, three months ahead of schedule – he wasn’t due to arrive until well into October, when the warmth had finally settled off and replaced with a drenching of the rain to match his detached mood – and while with other cities and countries he’d found himself drawn to the streets and the sights, it wasn’t the case here. It was too close, too familiar, that feeling of home that lurked in the back of his mind, hidden by a wall he was yet to fully understand or place within his mind.  
  
It forces some self-reflection, what on earth had forced him to skip out on Sweden and France completely and simply jump forward to Spartan City, so close and yet so far from his end goal. The end goal was the city he’d originated in all those years ago, tracing footsteps from a place that no longer existed to the colosseum only a few kilometres from his new home for the time being; a birth to death to life again; a second chance he never wanted to revenge a life he needed no vengeance towards any longer.  
  
And that was the worst part, really. For before he had a reason to keep going, even if he would only do things his way and on his terms – for what else did anyone expect? It might have been the future of the world he lived in, but it was also his life, after all – but once that purpose had disappeared, what else was he left with? The same boredom that had plagued him for years and years in the barian world before everything had begun to fall apart.  
  
Much like he expected, he wasn’t exactly one for just sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, though the closest he ever came to it these days was the nights he spent staring at the stars through the skylight – and even then it was not for his own benefit, but more the reminder that the others were out there, and the fates that tied them all together – too exhausted to bring anything except the breath from his lips. He’s sure it’s the boredom that has led him to the constant _why_? That seems to slip from the back of his throat at the most unknown and frankly, random times. And that’s fine that he recognises it, but why could he never get through it? What was he going to do at the end of the year, when he’s unable to keep backpacking his way away from his problems any longer?  
  
Emerald eyes slam shut, eliminating the world from him for a moment as he allows a memory to wash over him; not the ones from a lifelong lost to this world as it has come to pass far more often than he’d like in the past two weeks he’d been situation in the south of the city, but relatively recent ones, a lie of an excuse of summer as a warm jacket slung over his shoulders, raised from the ground and a familiar comrade so close by his side after so long.  
  
Durbe had always been so quiet outside of his leadership duties; he had never really spoken much when Nasch and Merag were around, but had a quiet electricity about him, one that kept Alit on his toes and out of the male’s way as often as possible. It had passed over to when Durbe had taken over leadership at Nasch and Merag’s disappearance from the Barian World, enforced into this world as well. Where Alit prided himself on pulling himself straight into the fight, calculating his moves on his feet as the situation revealed itself around him, Durbe was cool, adjusting all his parameters for success before diving into any situation.  
  
It’s always had him feel like there’s no real way to connect with Durbe, though he’d seen people do it before – Nasch of course had his bond with Durbe, much as he had his bond with the others, Merag spoke so highly of him when others asked, and even Mizael had something kind to say about the male more often than not – so he’d initially found it strange that Durbe would request to spend time with him during his travels, almost as if he had some answers of his own to find out.  
  
But he’d found himself surprised when Durbe – who, as expected, had everything he’d intended to do already planned by the time he had touched down – seems to genuinely enjoy his time simply finding his way through the world with only Alit by his side, and Alit the same. He’s not a big talker, never has been and Alit doesn’t expect it, but the silence is comfortable where he normally loathes the quiet, and when Durbe does speak, the words reek of a wisdom that he’s not sure of its origins but is grateful for anyway.  
  
_“You know… you don’t have to do this alone.”_  
  
_“Mm?”_  
  
_“You heard me. I get it, I understand. When the Numeron Code threw us back into this world, it left us all with more questions than answers. Lives we don’t have a right to remember thrown back into our minds at the worst times. I won’t pretend to know how you’re feeling, it’s your own story and I’ll admit I am lucky, that I have Nasch and Merag who shared my life with me. And you want to find your answers, that’s fine. But we’re all here for you, and you don’t have to do this alone._  
  
_We’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself. It’s why Nasch let you go without much of a fight. It’s not the same without you around, as you can tell, but if this is what’s best for you, then you know you have the six of us in your corner. It’s hard to find normal again, to find who you are. It’s why I joined you here, actually. This place was my original home too for a while, and I feel a compulsion to return from time to time. You’re a valued part of our team, Alit. I want to make sure you remember that.”_  
  
And he’s not sure whether it was simple surprise at the words spilling from his comrade’s mouth so suddenly without prompt – though in the back of his mind, he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if Merag hadn’t at some point prompted him to mention something in passing about his constantly decreasing motivation since he’d left the town behind – or just a desperation for another who actually understood his pain, the agony of all the questions with no real answers in front of him, but he gives in, breaks at the walls he’d thrown around himself, walls that even Yuma hadn’t seen in his weakest moments.  
  
_“How did you heal?”_  
  
_“I don’t have an answer for you, because I haven’t. Not yet. It’s a work in progress, and I have two people very close who have shared what I have. There’s nothing they can say, nothing I can say Alit, and my apologies for such, but sometimes the truth just doesn’t exist. It’s written away, sealed from our sight and as much as we beg for solace, sometimes it just isn’t possible. We make the best with what we have, as little or as much as that is. I was going to suggest that maybe to stop looking for these answers and use this time to find who you are as a person, but it all seems pointless now that I sit here beside you, feeling everything I fear you do as well.”_  
  
Alit’s eyes snap open at the words, night sky staring back at him, useless but defiant all the same; rolling to the side, Alit snatches up his journal, popping the book open only to snatch the one thing Durbe had left with him when he had departed back to Heartland City. The dim room makes trying to decipher the photo beyond human capabilities, but Alit had seen the photo enough that he could recall it from human memory.  
  
Even if he couldn’t, he remembers the moment it was taken; three days before he set off for Europe they had thrown a farewell for him, and upon Merag’s insistence they _had_ to take a photo together the seven had begrudgingly gotten together – annoyance almost entirely on Mizael and Vector’s part, for even Nasch has the smallest hint of a smile at the tips of his cheeks as they swarm at Alit. Alit needs not bother turning the photo to read the words transcribed elegantly in a manner that is far too formal for his liking, but cannot be anything but expected from Durbe - you are not alone.  
  
Rolling to his back, his eyes glance upwards, bracing the photo above his eyes as the silhouette of the world drowns the rest of the features out; but it’s alright, for even if he cannot see them, he knows they are there, much as they are always with him now, even though the distance has ripped them from his eyes for the time being.  
  
Letting the photo drop back to his chest, his lips curl upwards in a defiant, all-knowing smirk as the skylight reflects back into his vision, a set of twinkling lights catching his eyes that has his head shaking almost in disbelief, because really, what else did he expect? As soon as Nasch had shown them all how to identify Ursa Major – to remind them what Alit had forgotten, and what Durbe’s words had brought back to the front of his mind – he’d found himself finding it at the most random times, when he truly needed it most.  
  
And _of course_ it would just decide to show itself now when he’s musing over his comrades, his friends who while may annoy him at ridiculous times of the night with arguments over food that could _clearly_ be done face to face, he still misses them dearly and is glad that they continue to keep him as a part of the group.  
  
And just maybe Durbe was finally right about him for once, and that the truth was long gone for him to change and learn from. But it wasn’t the end for him, not as he had originally suspected, for he could be himself outside of the Gladiator, he could be himself outside that of a barian. But in order to find himself outside of his emperor status, to find himself outside of his past, he had to start at the beginning – and where better than his actual roots?  
  
He would return to Heartland City eventually, for the pain of missing his comrades was getting harder to bear with each passing day and even now just seeing them on a screen was not enough; the Astral World may have stripped them of their powers but their bond remains as strong as ever, a connection that transcends time and space and it ached at all of them to leave for too long.  
  
But for now, he was allowed to focus only on himself with no guilt for what felt like the first time in longer than he could remember, and while he’d taken the words Durbe had said to him to heart – you are not alone, but the answers you seek, they no longer exist – he morphed them into his own understanding, taking the words and holding them close in his heart. Because really, if he could no longer find his answers, he had to start again, build himself back up to the person he was, no, now _is_ , and what better place to start then at the very beginning?  
  
Alit finally tears his eyes from the stars only to roll to his side, emerald eyes slipping shut as a content heart finally finds time to rest. His dreams are of summer, of red, and a home to one day return to.


End file.
